More then a Murder
by AmeobasWearMasks
Summary: A dead business man found in an office. A regular occurrence for Sherlock Holmes. But why does he feel so weird about Molly dating another man? When he is kidnapped by a lunatic out to kill him, it's up to Molly to try and save him, with some strange coincidences and just maybe, something else. (there may be incorrect grammar, I'm to embarrassed to ask anyone to proofread it)
1. Chapter 1

It was an average Tuesday afternoon and the sky was a shining blue canvas, with not a cloud in sight.

Arnold Harvey noted this as he stepped through the Automatic doors that belonged to a rather large company that sold Construction Machinery.

Arnold tipped his sleek black bowler hat at Deborah, the new secretary on the ground floor.

He then proceeded to the elevators, hitting the button Forty-Two with his podgy fingers.

As the elevator slid smoothly upwards, Arnold admired his fine brown moustache in the shiny metal walls that encased him.

The elevator suddenly jolted to a stop, surprising Arnold so much that his bowler hat tumbled down from his shiny rather bald head.

A woman stepped in silently, her red shoes clacking loudly on the metal ground.

Arnold shifted his slightly obese body to make room for this stranger.

She was wearing a white dress that was embellished with a large red flower. Her legs were covered with rainbow spotted tights, and she was carrying an oversized purple handbag.

Arnold frowned. This company was a serious company; people here were expected to wear serious clothes, not ridiculously brash outfits.

And who was this woman anyway? Arnold had prided himself on knowing all the names of the people who worked in this company, but he completely drew a blank on this woman.

He had a right mind to call security and have this woman thrown out; surely people were not allowed to wear this unnecessary extravagance of colours inside this building.

_I will have Deborah call Management and ask whether this woman should be inside this building_, Arnold thought as the lift slid slowly past Level Forty-One.

The lift doors opened silently and Arnold stomped out, his toes crunching together in his thin serious shoes.

He thrust the frosted glass door to his office open, and waited to hear the satisfying click of the lock, which meant that he would have no unnecessary distractions during his day.

The click did not come, and he turned to see what was holding the door open.

It was the outlandishly dressed woman.

She drew something from her purse, and he scarcely had time to gasp before he aimed the gun at his head, and then fired.


	2. Chapter 2

The loud blaring ring tone from Sherlock's mobile-phone rang out suddenly, startling John from an accidental nap, which had occurred while he was writing another post on his Blog.

He grumbled and wiped away the small puddle of drool that had spread across a pile of important looking papers on the table.

Sherlock's phone was shoved unceremoniously between two cushions that were stuffed haphazardly inside a washing basket.

Josh sighed, debating whether to answer the phone, leave it, or go give it to Sherlock, who was most likely doing something weird in his room.

The last time that John went into Sherlock's room, he had found him dissecting a human foot.

Of course he had only caught a glimpse before Sherlock had kicked the door closed.

John pulled the phone out from between the cushions, and took it to Sherlock's room.

He knocked on the door, and unsurprisingly there was no reply.

He slowly pushed the door open, praying that that nothing gruesome was lying in wait on the other side.

The curtains were closed, and the room smelled faintly of Chlorine and Peaches.

Sherlock was lying upside-down on his bed, his head dangling off the edge and his eyes closed.

"Go away," He snapped. "I'm thinking."

John wordlessly threw the phone at Sherlock; he caught it without even opening his eyes, and pressed the answer button.

"Yes?" He said, sitting up.

There was a small unintelligible noise from the little silver phone, Sherlock 'mmm'd and then hung up.

"Telemarketing I suppose?" John said.

"Nope, a dead body. Get dressed we're going to the Morgue"

Sherlock stood up, and then unceremoniously shut the door in John's face.


	3. Chapter 3

"He was single, divorced from his third wife two months ago. No children, has two Persian cats. Last ate an Egg-Salad sandwich. Drives a grey Porsche. Died exactly," Sherlock paused and checked his watch. "Twelve hours and Twenty-Seven minutes ago"

He then took a small pair of tweezers and extracted a bloodied black bullet.

John had left to go make himself a coffee, and now it was just Sherlock and Molly, alone and surrounded by about twelve other bodies shoved inside black bags.

Sherlock was examining the ear of the man, when he paused.

"Something's different." He said, narrowing his eyes at Molly.

"What?" She said, slightly bewildered.

He scanned Molly's body, making her tug her hair self-consciously.

"What's his name?" He said suddenly.

Molly blinked and looked at the dead man on the table. "Oh… Uh, he's Arno-"

"No, no, I already know his name. I mean your," Sherlock flapped his hand vaguely. "Boy-Friend, date, whatever."

"Oh," Molly paused. "How do you know-?"

"Your necklace. You wouldn't buy something like that. It's a heart; so I doubt that a friend would buy you something like that, and unless I'm mistaken, your only family is your dad who is, err, not with us anymore. So who is he?"

Molly blushed furiously; Sherlock had never paid this much attention to her _ever_. "His name is George, we've been seeing each-other for a while now, I'm surprised you haven't noticed."

She forced a smile, and there was an awkward silence.

An unreadable expression was frozen on Sherlock's face.

He felt a strange unknown emotion; it was like a mix of sadness, and something else. Something he just couldn't quiet place.

The awkward silence stretched on.

"I-I'm going to go fix…Fix up the.. Kettles" Molly blundered, and then quickly scuttled out of the room.

Sherlock shook his head. He despised the fact that he could not pin-point his mysterious feeling.

He shook his head.

'_I mustn't act like this, there are more important things going on right now_' he thought to himself.

He then picked up the tweezers and began pulling skull fragments from the hole in Arnold Harvey's head.


	4. Chapter 4

Later that night, John found himself mindlessly flicking through the channels on the TV.

He was supposed to be going to see a film with his latest girlfriend, Annie, but she had bailed on him, so now he had pretty much nothing to do.

Suddenly the quiet air was filled with the annoying sound of Sherlock's mobile going off _again_.

'_Why does he never keep the bloody thing on him?_' John thought angrily as he pulled the phone from a jar containing beer bottle tops.

"Hello?" He said, answering the call.

"Ahh, hello John. Is Sherlock there? I need to speak to him, it's important."

It was Lestrade, most likely calling about the body that had been found.

"I'm afraid not, he's gone for a walk apparently. He's in a funny mood for some reason."

"Oh," Lestrade paused. 'Well can you tell him to come down to here when he's back. It's about the body; the owners of the office that the man was found in want all of his stuff out. The regulars can't find any evidence on anything, we need Sherlock to go down there and take a look around. I suppose you'll need to come as well. The address is 155 Dutton Road. You'll need to organise your own transport though, I doubt I'm going to be able to get anything for you now."

"Right, that's fine, in fact I think I think can hear him coming in now. Bye"

John hung up just as Sherlock strolled in through the door.

"Why are you on my phone?" Sherlock questioned, snatching it out of John's hands.

'Well if you actually kept it on you, I might not _have _to use it"

Surprisingly Sherlock didn't retaliate. '_There really is something up with him_' John.

"Anyway," He said clearing his throat. "It was Lestrade, he wants us to go down to the murder scene. I have no idea how to get there; the cabs are too expensive at this hour. I thought you might have an idea, you being the genius and all."

Sherlock shrugged.

John chewed his lip worriedly; Sherlock had never acted like this _ever_. Usually he would have been absolutely brimming with sarcastic witty remarks that John would never be able to retaliate on.

"Well… Uhh, I guess I'll have to ask someone for a lift then" John said, scrolling through his contacts.

Unfortunately most of them were past girlfriends, who would probably rather rudely decline the opportunity to have _anything _to do with Sherlock.

His finger hovered over Annie's number, when he had a much better idea.

"Hello, Molly?"

"Yes, Hello? Who is this?" Molly's crackling voice jumbled from the phone

"This is John, D'you think you could give us a lift to-" he paused and checked the address he'd inked on his hand. "-155 Dutton Road, I'm not entirely sure where that is, but we need to get there for the Murder scene or something"

"Oh… err, yes I suppose so, my cars a bit rubbish, but I think it'll make it. When do you want me to pick you up?" Molly crackled.

"Well, now I guess. They need to clear up the office or something."

The line was silent for a minute, John could imagine the startled-cat-like face that had occurred more then once on Molly face.

"Y-Yeah, I can do that. I'll come by your house now." She stuttered.

"Great, thanks, bye" John said quickly, and then hung up. He'd never been good with phone conversations.

He turned to Sherlock, who was now lying on the couch beside the bookcase.

"We got a lift, with Molly." John said.

Sherlock's face twitched at Molly's name.

"I'm going to go think." He said standing up.

John groaned. "You've been thinking for seven hours, what else could there possibly be to contemplate?" He called down to Sherlock, as he threw open his bedroom door.

He responded by slamming the door shut unnecessarily hard.


	5. Chapter 5

The car ride was awkwardly quiet, and Sherlock was glad to be out of his cramped seat.

To be honest, for the first time ever, Sherlock would've rather curled up in his bed and try to drown the mysterious feeling of despair in sleep. But no, instead he had to wander round a dead mans office looking for clues.

He slightly cursed himself for thinking such stupid thoughts.

John and Molly stopped to talk to the sectary, whom's nametag read 'Deborah' in curled font.

Sherlock however strode forward into the elevator and quickly pressed the digits Forty Two, before closing the door on John and Molly's faces.

"There is really something up with him today" John said thoughtfully as him and Molly waited for the next elevator.

"I think I may have caused it" Molly responded miserably.

"You, how?"

"Well I told him that I was seeing someone, I didn't really tell him, he figured I out, but when I confirmed it he went all sort of frozen and weird."

John frowned. "But last time, he just slagged off-" John paused; he had found it hard to talk about Moriarty after he ha strapped a bomb on to him. "Moriarty, saying he was gay"

"Yeah, that was a while ago though, I don't know how I could have offended or upset him" Molly said quietly.

The elevator doors slid open and John sighed. 'Don't worry," he said. "It's probably not you, you know how much of a nutter he is"

Molly nodded, then shrugged, still looking miserable, and they went up to the Forty Second floor in silence.


	6. Chapter 6

The elevator door opened and Sherlock strode out and straight into the office marked 'Arnold Harvey, Executive Commissioner'.

The door swung shut behind him, and he had only had time to have a quick glance at the extremely organised looking office, when he heard a snigger behind him.

He spun around and caught a glimpse of a colourfully dressed woman, right before receiving a sharp blow to the head with a pot-plant.

And then everything went black.


	7. Chapter 7

The world swam in a blur of colours, as Sherlock's dazed eyes strained to focus on his surroundings.

He blinked as he eyed the room he was in.

'_I've been here before_' He thought blearily.

There was a loud pain crashing through his skull. He reached up to feel his forehead, and then found his hands were tied onto the chair on which he was seated. His feet had also been bound to the grey

He then panicked as everything came flooding back to him.

He twisted his head, pain shooting across his skull, to see if there was anything behind him he could use to free his hands from.

There was nothing, but a large square body of water.

His mind spun with the realization of where he was. Just a few months ago he had been in this exact same room when he had first encountered Moriarty, where John had nearly died, where Carl the swimming champion _had_ died, all those years ago.

"Is this another game Moriarty, I thought you would have been a bit more imaginative with the location?" Sherlock fought to keep the panic from his voice.

One push and he would sink to the bottom of the pool; he had never prided himself on being a good swimmer when he had the use of his arms and legs, he wouldn't like to know what would happen if he were strapped to a chair.

He heard a sharp high pitched giggle, and out of the shadows stepped a woman wearing an assortment of colourful clothes.

"Bet I gotcha scared their Sherlock, didn't I?" She said in a loud babyish voice.

"I was so _worried _that you wouldn't turn up," She turned her bright pink lips downwards in a mocking sad face. "I had to pretend to be that oaf's sectary for almost a whole day, but then you turned up, all alone. And now look, here we are all alone _together_"

She spread her arms out and laughed insanely.

'What do you want from me?" Sherlock practically yelled over her manic laughter.

"Oh, Sherlock, I want to kill you, me, _us_,together," Her lips stretched over her crooked yellowed teeth into a disturbing smile.

Sherlock eyes widened as she brought out a large kitchen knife, and twirled it around in her fingers.

"Yes," She said quietly, as though she were talking to herself. "We'll die together, properly this time. _He _won't put a stop to it this time, he can't…"

She continued to babble on nonsense to herself and Sherlock scanned the room, looking for something, _anything _that would get him out of the chair.

The out of the corner of his eye he saw a small flash of light as someone swung open the emergency exit.

It was molly.

Her eyes were wide and crazed looking and she was clutching a large dictionary.

She snuck up slowly behind the woman who was still babbling and twirling her knife.

Slowly and silently she lifted the dictionary up behind the mad woman's head. Sherlock suddenly realized that Molly would defiantly not be strong enough to knock the woman out, but she would propel her straight into him.

"STOP" He yelled, but it was too late.

There was a dull _thunk_ as the book made contact with its target.

The woman staggered forward, her hand outstretched, and pushed Sherlock into the water.

Him and the chair sank like a stone.


	8. Chapter 8

Molly dropped the book.

'_SHIT'_ she thought. Partially at the fact that Sherlock had just disappeared into the water and also because the wackily dressed woman had fallen short of the water, and was now making an enraged growling sound.

Then within a split second she twisted round and pulled at Molly's legs, making her fall to the floor, her head hitting the concrete with a painful crash.

Instantly the enraged woman crawled on top of Molly and kneed her in the stomach.

She then scratched her face, drawing blood.

Instinctively Molly grabbed the flesh on the woman's cheeks, digging her nails in deep, and with all her strength she shoved the woman off her. Then without thinking she snatched the dictionary from the ground and slammed it onto the woman's face. Hard.

She was then still, blood flowing freely from her nose.

Molly didn't even think to check to see if she was alive. There was only one thing on her mind, Sherlock.

She pulled her shoes off easily, and then dived straight into the pool.

Through the water, she saw the blurred lump that was Sherlock. He was struggling, but weakly.

She ploughed downwards, and set to work untying his hands. The knot loosened quickly, and in a matter of seconds both his arms were free.

He leaned forward, desperately trying to free his right foot. Molly had already started pulling the rope loose from his left.

His fingers were slow and weak, and he just pulled the rope free, when he felt the world slowly go black around him

He vaguely felt Molly grab his waist and pull him upwards, but everything was spinning.

Just as he was sure he was going to die, they broke through the water.

He gasped in air, looking much like a grounded fish.

Molly was already out of the pool, and she pulled Sherlock out of the water, and after making sure he was still alive, made a strangled sort of relived noise.

Sherlock then did something, a completely spur of the moment thing, that Molly never thought would actually happen ever.

He kissed her.

Molly pulled him closer as she ran her hands under his sopping wet shirt and across his curved spine.

The loud banging noise of the main doors made them spring apart.

John marched in looking angry.

"Where the hell've you been?" He said looking angry. "Both of you just bloody disappear, if I hadn't seen molly drive away, I could've-"

He stopped, noticing that Molly and Sherlock were both sopping wet, and there was a body quietly bleeding next to them.

Sherlock felt dizzy, weak, and suddenly extremely sick. Without warning he lent over to the pool and vomited what felt like a gallon of disgusting chlorinated water.

"What the bloody hell's gone on here?" John loudly said.

His question fell on deaf ears, as Molly suddenly yelled. "CALL AN AMBULANCE!"


	9. Chapter 9

Molly dropped the book.

'_SHIT'_ she thought. Partially at the fact that Sherlock had just disappeared into the water and also because the wackily dressed woman had fallen short of the water, and was now making an enraged growling sound.

Then within a split second she twisted round and pulled at Molly's legs, making her fall to the floor, her head hitting the concrete with a painful crash.

Instantly the enraged woman crawled on top of Molly and kneed her in the stomach.

She then scratched her face, drawing blood.

Instinctively Molly grabbed the flesh on the woman's cheeks, digging her nails in deep, and with all her strength she shoved the woman off her. Then without thinking she snatched the dictionary from the ground and slammed it onto the woman's face. Hard.

She was then still, blood flowing freely from her nose.

Molly didn't even think to check to see if she was alive. There was only one thing on her mind, Sherlock.

She pulled her shoes off easily, and then dived straight into the pool.

Through the water, she saw the blurred lump that was Sherlock. He was struggling, but weakly.

She ploughed downwards, and set to work untying his hands. The knot loosened quickly, and in a matter of seconds both his arms were free.

He leaned forward, desperately trying to free his right foot. Molly had already started pulling the rope loose from his left.

His fingers were slow and weak, and he just pulled the rope free, when he felt the world slowly go black around him

He vaguely felt Molly grab his waist and pull him upwards, but everything was spinning.

Just as he was sure he was going to die, they broke through the water.

He gasped in air, looking much like a grounded fish.

Molly was already out of the pool, and she pulled Sherlock out of the water, and after making sure he was still alive, made a strangled sort of relived noise.

Sherlock then did something, a completely spur of the moment thing, that Molly never thought would actually happen ever.

He kissed her.

Molly pulled him closer as she ran her hands under his sopping wet shirt and across his curved spine.

The loud banging noise of the main doors made them spring apart.

John marched in looking angry.

"Where the hell've you been?" He said looking angry. "Both of you just bloody disappear, if I hadn't seen molly drive away, I could've-"

He stopped, noticing that Molly and Sherlock were both sopping wet, and there was a body quietly bleeding next to them.

Sherlock felt dizzy, weak, and suddenly extremely sick. Without warning he lent over to the pool and vomited what felt like a gallon of disgusting chlorinated water.

"What the bloody hell's gone on here?" John loudly said.

His question fell on deaf ears, as Molly suddenly yelled. "CALL AN AMBULANCE!"


End file.
